


Fairy and The Fury

by Esotericali (AliWC)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adding characters as they are mentioned, But basically everyone - Freeform, Cursed!Lexa, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, I know castles aren't historically accurate - alot of this isn't, Only bad people die in this (and Costia), Sick!Abby, but strictly 100 characterisation, determined!Clarke, inspired by that disney classic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 18:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10519263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliWC/pseuds/Esotericali
Summary: In the 1800's there's a bloody battle which predates the civil war between two enemies; a dangerous little thing with her own castle and people - Lexa - and the bloody queen of the north with an army of savages - Nia. And this is when Lexa learns evil witches can't be defeated without receiving a parting gift.Centuries later, a med student living in a tiny town has her own battle; she will do anything to find a cure for the mysterious illness which grips her mother. Even if it means venturing to a set of ruins deep within the woods.





	

**Fair and The Fury**

1.1 Requite _[05.20.1817 unsettled Virginia lands]_

It is an eon ruled by the tip and the tang. Paper is used simply to wrap the events, and the only electricity upon the earth is the kind that courses through Lexa’s veins as she fights to keep her head over the sea of blood.

The earth is dark and though lightning pierces the clouds overhead, there’s nothing to bring it down. If not in the fury of fire, then the cleanse would come with the rains. For now, chaos is rife and eating at the growth and toppling temples.

But the godly strikes light the skies, and this Lexa appreciates as she rushes through the throng pushing bodies and slicing enemies, their blood spattering her, her arm soaked to the elbow in gore. 

In the wrath of the light, Lexa can see where, far behind the advancing army, safe atop a horse, and yelling obscenities to the sky, the bloody queen of the north swears the death of any who try to turn and flee.

‘Nia,’ Lexa growls, and she deflects a random fallen warrior who tried to give one last slash as she passed over him. Her attention is riveted on her arch nemesis. She doesn’t look down as she sinks her sword into the fool’s throat. She doesn’t stop the glare even as three horses charge her in succession, their riders screaming as they swing their polearms.  She deftly dodges them all, and knocks down the last horse before beheading its rider.  She ignores the other two, hearing grunts as Indra and Octavia battle at her back, cleaning up stragglers in her path.  She vaguely notes as Anya, a mere shadow on a bright golden mare decked with black armour, shouts into the din, directing their own riders forward into the valley to circle Nia’s army.

She knows she has lost many of her own. But Nia has lost more.

This truth hangs between them as Lexa reaches the crest of the peak from which Nia had sent her hordes. Though the battle rages on, there is a quiet here. For Lexa.

Nia is looking around, her eyes wide, her teeth gnashing as she takes in the chaos and realises it’s not hers. She spits and grunts and growls and Lexa takes no notice of it.  But then, there is a pause, and Nia throws down her silver and bronzed pike.

Lexa knows it’s not a surrender, and she stops, and scans the pike.  Then Nia is sneering, and picking a hemp satchel off her horse’s saddle. Lexa sees the stains and already knows what’s in it even before Nia throws it to her feet and laughs.

Lexa is momentarily stunned as the bag rolls and stops, the mouth of the bag falling open, and then an ashen lifeless face is staring up past her, the flashing of the sky overhead lighting up the features, and the identity of Nia’s victim is unmistakable.  

‘Costia.’

When Lexa looks up again, her eyes tearing off Costia’s bloodied head with a painful snap, she sees that Nia is gone. The hooves in the mud show up clearly however, and Lexa tightens her grip on the sword, her jaw clenched, and she starts forward, her feet kicking up mud.

She catches up with Nia when the sky overhead is at its loudest.  She has to kill the horse, and Nia goes into the mud.  She’s too infuriated to appreciate Nia crawling through dirt, her knees sinking. She’s too lost to notice that Nia has something in her hand. Too preoccupied with the final swing of her sword to counter Nia’s low-gravity attack.  She hardly cares that she’s sprawling in the mud with her nemesis and she only cusses when Nia pounces from behind and jabs her nape with something.

Lexa doesn’t know what it was; there’s no dagger in Nia’s hand, and she can still feel something. But right now, it barely registers. Nia’s in the dirt, on her back again in the next minute anyway, and Lexa slowly gets up, dragging her sword free of the mud.  As she advances on the bloody queen of the north, she can barely hear Nia speaking over the storm that rages both inside and out. But as she swings her sword, she finally hears Nia’s deranged shouts.

‘Nightmares!’ she is spitting. ‘You will drown, you will suffer! You will never find relief!  None of you will! Embrace the eternal torment!  Accept no light!’

Nia laughs as Lexa beheads her.

 

* * *

 

 

When they returned to her castle in between the mountains, after traversing the bell woods to the south, Lexa told Anya, Indra, and Lincoln what Nia had said in her last moment.  Their faces hadn’t given much away, but Lexa had seen how Indra’s brow had deepened, how Lincoln immediately looked for Octavia, and how Anya’s features didn’t relax.  

Lexa herself had chosen to ignore the ramifications. Instead she sat in the yard as the bedraggled survivors continued to move in the gates, and focused on cleaning her sword. 

Her horse had been taken to the stables as soon as she’d returned, and her gaze had lingered on the light hair of the stable-hand as she led him away through the crowd. Monroe would treat her horse’s wounds and make sure he was given feed and water, she knew.

Sometimes, she didn’t need to lead by example. A time when she’d come from finding the head of her lover thrown into the mud at her feet was such a time and a time when they returned without three quarters of their number was such a time. Tris was among that number.

Lexa cleaned her sword, stroking the metal, and ignoring as the red fell away.

After the last of the blood was cleaned off, Lexa looked up to find the courtyard filled with warriors doing the same.  It had been so quiet, she had thought it was empty, the last of the survivors having dispersed. But no. The stronger ones, much like herself, whom had come through the battle with heavy weapons, and heavy hearts but no serious injuries were sitting on the cobblestones, on the backs of wagons, beside closed shops, and on scant few outdoor benches each cleaning their axes, polearms, their swords.

For some reason, Lexa felt a swell of anger at the very people of whom she should be most proud. She sheathed her sword with white knuckles and moved off to the castle doors before she could tear open her mouth to scream.

 

* * *

 

 

Only a day later she discovered there was a scar on her nape and below it, the mark of a curse—specifically, an eternity symbol. Lexa brushed her fingers over it, even as she knew she was vindicating the witch; Nia’s last laugh echoing each time she was faced with the reminder.

Titus tried to pray again, placing his hand on the back of her neck. She moved off the chair and turned, glaring.

‘You have been doing this for a day,’ she spat. ‘There are hundreds of dead who need your prayers, spirit guide.’

Titus started to resist, his eyes cast ever downwards, respectful, his words nonetheless firm, but when Lexa growled, he fell silent and nodded, turning away to hurry from the rooms.

‘She has brought ruin down upon us,’ Indra stated, her tone harsh.

Anya moved off the wall where she leaned, arms crossed. ‘Nia said ‘eternal torment’?’

Lexa resisted the temptation to snap.  She had relayed the witch’s words time and again.  She nodded.

‘That’s an eternity symbol,’ Anya accused. ‘Do you think she meant us to suffer in immortality?’

Lexa moved to the window and looked out to the sky.  It was dark and she could see the same storm raging in the distance, angry at the destruction. The ground outside was still wet; the mud tracks of the villagers far below starkly visible, mist clung to the opaque windows, and the people below struggled to warm their animals; she could hear the baying even from the tower.

‘There’s no light,’ she declared. Then she turned to face Anya, and Indra. ‘I believe Nia The Forsaken has cursed us into the darkness. Tell the people this.’

Lexa swallowed her next words, and Indra glared. Anya took a few even breaths, waiting, before moving to leave. Lexa knew she would warn the people to flee before the curse took hold upon them too. She ignored the irrational rage at Anya presuming her thoughts, accurate as they were.

The people deserved to flee. They wouldn’t though. Not all of them. Maybe.

She slammed her hand into the wall, and it hurt, but Lexa only focussed on her breathing. And on ignoring Indra’s gaze burning into her back.

‘You are losing your temper,’ Indra warned.

Lexa lifted her chin and felt as a snarl tried to escape her lips, but she closed her eyes instead, and pressed the cold hard stone beneath her fingertips and palm. It didn’t relent.

‘I’m turning into a fury,’ Lexa gritted roughly. She felt the impact of Indra’s gasp and she withered, knowing she would lose herself, if even her stoic chief could not contain the despair.  ‘Leave me.’

Indra’s silence hung heavy on her exposed nape, but eventually Lexa heard it; the click of the door as it was closed.  Then the room was empty save for her own cold and misery. Empty but full of nice things.

Her rooms were extravagant, resplendent in golds and whites and some lighter blues. Her bed was massive and inviting, laden with a dozen pillows. The chairs were ornate, carven, works of art. The paintings on the walls were beautiful landscape pieces.

And in that moment, she hated it all.

She knew she had to get a hold of herself, but the rage coursed through her.  She strode across the room, pulling her sword free of its scabbard, and slashed several chairs, the rug, the bedcurtains, and one pale blue gold-trimmed vase.  It fell to the floor and shattered into tiny pieces. She felt as the pieces crunched underfoot, and she started hacking at the tall, winding, spiral bedpost.

She only stopped when she caught herself in the mirror of the dressing table. She looked as many young rash warriors did when humiliated in the grounds. Her sword was held aloft, her shoulders squared, her partially-braided hair lank, her neck and cheeks flushed… but her eyes…

Her eyes were an evil glinting red.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

1.2 Panacea _[04.02.2017 Trigeda village – Rural Virginia]_

Clarke Griffin’s face was aglow in the light of the iPad. She swiped the screen up, reading quickly.

‘Any luck?’

Clarke glanced up at the owner of the voice and shook her head slightly. ‘The fever went down for a few hours, but that was it.’

Raven Reyes sighed and leaned against the shelf.  Her fingers found purchase on the edge of the shelf, and she twirled bottles of painkillers with her index.

‘I wish I could do something,’ she murmured beneath her breath. It sounded empty, but Clarke knew the inventor slash engineer meant it.

 ‘Well the doctors can’t do anything either,’ Clarke replied, the bitterness slipping out.

‘You’ll figure it out.’

Clarke’s knuckles were white from gripping the iPad’s edges, but she nodded.  ‘There will be something.’

She looked at the myriad herbs and vitamins on the shelf; she was scraping the bottom of the barrel. Echinacea and Garlic were barely tolerable in fighting off a cold, much less the mystery virus which gripped her mother.

She was looking for obscure remedies online, but the searches weren’t yielding much beyond the vague homeopathy posts made by mothers with eight children. The medical directories weren’t much help either, stating only common knowledge or the basics of how the body worked and what herbs had what effects on said body parts; all things Clarke had learned in her first year.

The bell hanging above the door rang, high and sweet, as someone entered the tiny pharmacy, but Clarke barely noticed. She was squatting now, peering at the dust covered jars of the bottom shelf. These were the obscure off-brands and ‘alternative medication’ bordering on suss, but Clarke was willing to check every avenue.

‘I don’t recommend that one,’ said a voice behind them.

Clarke looked up past Raven who was flat against the shelves, making room for someone neither of them had ever seen. She was a little older, with curly metallic-copper-tipped, auburn hair.

‘Not unless you want a case of the runs.’

Clarke slid the jar back on the shelf and grimaced. ‘I wasn’t sure what it did,’ she admitted. When she stood, she slid the tablet into her side-satchel, and offered a weak nod.

The woman smiled broadly. ‘I’m Luna.’

‘Clarke,’ she answered, brushing her hands on her jeans. ‘This is Raven.’

Raven raised her chin, giving a friendly nod.

‘What are you looking for anyway?’

Clarke hesitated. She didn’t think Luna, who was a stranger to the town, should be asking, but a large part of her was desperate for any knowledge that might help.

‘My mom is sick. Fevers, hallucination, weakness. She’s had antibiotics and medication that target the symptoms, but doctors aren’t sure what it is.  And none of it is working.’

‘Parasite or virus?’

Clarke shrugged stiffly, planting her hands in her pockets. ‘The tests were inconclusive,’ she gritted.

‘She’s been to hospital?’

‘Multiple times. They keep sending her home.’

Clarke saw as the conundrum settled in Luna’s mind for a few minutes. There was a flash of discomfort as Clarke chewed on the idea that this was merely an intriguing mental puzzle for the stranger and the not life and death that it was for her.

‘Well, look,’ Luna said at last, her voice lower than before. ‘I’ve heard of an exceedingly rare herb that’s supposed to steady the mind and fight off fevers.  I’m not sure you will have tried it yet, because the only source of it in the country is … contentious.’

Clarke frowned, fighting the hope bubbling in her chest. ‘What do you mean ‘contentious’?’

Luna considered her, but then spoke off-handily. ‘The last known source of the stuff—it’s called ‘Natblida’—was easily from centuries ago. A rudimentary healer is said to have cultivated it not far from here.  Through the woods to the north, there might be some remains of the garden.’

‘The garden?’

Luna raised an eyebrow. ‘You know? The castle. The ruins. In the north.’

Clarke swallowed and realised her hands were tightly balled fists in her jeans pockets.  She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘I wouldn’t go alone though,’ Luna warned as she reached over Clarke’s head to pull down some vitamin c. ‘I hear the woods are infested with wolves and mosquitoes.’

Then Luna, with a last look over her shoulder, moved out of the aisle. Clarke looked at Raven who didn’t seem to have anything to add and showed this with a shrug.

‘Dad will know where it is,’ Clarke murmured, moving to the end of the aisle to watch as Luna handed the $14.50 over to the bored looking goggle boy.

When Luna left the store, the bell ringing brightly after her, Clarke moved to the register.

‘Jasper?’

Jasper hummed as he continued to read his booklet; comics, an obscure DC anti-hero series.

‘Jasper!’

‘Yeah?’

‘You know her? Luna?’

Jasper shrugged, his eyebrows knitting. ‘No,’ he muttered as he returned his gaze to his comic book. ‘You buying anything today, Clarke?’

Clarke pressed her lips closed in frustration, then leaned forward, peering at Jasper’s face under the mop of hair. ‘You ever heard of an herb called ‘natblida’?’

‘No,’ he intoned.

But Clarke, leaning back, knew that Jasper barely cared about his job in the pharmacy. Maybe the pharmacist would have heard of it, but she could always ask her mother.  If she was awake. And lucid.

‘Clarke,’ Raven muttered. ‘Come on. Wells was looking for you.’

They’re out of the shop before Clarke looks up, frowning. ‘What for?’

‘You left some notes at his place. He doesn’t want them getting thrown out by the maid.’

‘I thought the mayor fired her.’

‘New one,’ Raven replied.

They’d been walking up the cobblestones when Raven stopped in place and smiled. Clarke followed her gaze and rolled her eyes. Across the street, walking with swag, his jacket open, hands pocketed, was Finn with his friends.

‘Come on, Raven,’ Clarke pled. ‘Can we not help his head swell, just once.’

‘He’s nice,’ Raven argued, but she allowed Clarke to steer her down the path, her steps dragging as she watched Finn.  She wasn’t the only one either; several girls in the café openly stared as he passed. He gave them a chin tilt and a smirk, and they grinned back at him.

‘He’s a player,’ Clarke pointed out, but they were past him now, and she slowed her steps, letting Raven guide the pace.

‘Just because people like him doesn’t make him a player. He helped me with finding a space for my rocket in the park.’

‘That was four years ago, and he wanted credit.’

‘We weren’t even in the same class, Clarke.’

‘Not for school. With you know… them.’ Clarke waved her hands towards the fawning girls.

‘What?’

‘You made him look smart.’ Clarke crossed the road towards the lane out of town. ‘I bet he even mansplained.’

‘Just because you hate men…’

Clarke rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t hate men.’

Clarke lived in a quiet house just outside of town. They headed there now, despite Raven’s message from Wells.  A few yellow flowers grew on the side of the lane and Clarke plucked one.

‘Mum says it smells like outside,’ Clarke explained quickly, tucking the flower into the outer pocket of her satchel.

Raven nodded carefully. ‘Your dad home?’

‘Yeah.  He always is now.’

‘The garage?’

‘Broken cars have been coming here.’ Clarke waved to the field at the side of the house; it dipped downwards into a half basin. As they reached the peak of the path, Raven saw them, the two rust buckets sitting patiently in the weak sun, various tools about, drums standing idly, one of the bonnets arcing high, propped up with a makeshift stick.

‘That’s cool of your dad.’

Clarke shrugged. ‘He’s the only town mechanic.’ Then she rolled her eyes and relayed her dad’s words, ‘Keeps food on the table.’

‘Hi Mr. G,’ Raven said brightly as Clarke’s father emerged from the house, rubbing his hands with rag. He lifted a hand to wave but Clarke could see the light didn’t reach his eyes.  She rushed forward.

‘She’s fine,’ he assured her, bringing his hands to Clarke’s arms, pulling her from the front door. ‘She’s just having a hard time sleeping.’

‘Dad,’ Clarke spoke, nodding, covering her relief. ‘Have you ever heard of an herb called ‘natblida’?’

‘No,’ he answered, tossing the rag to the top of a metal bin a few feet away and crossing his arms. ‘What is it?’

Clarke dropped her satchel, shrugging, and pulled out her iPad. ‘Not sure, something that’s supposed to help. Some stranger told me about it.’ She moved her finger across the screen of the tablet, then turned it to share the view with her dad.

‘Can you show me where the ruins are?’ The screen showed up a map, and Jake frowned.

‘Hold on, wait,’ he said, casting a glance at Raven who offered a cautious grimace. ‘What is this? Why the ruins?’

‘That’s where it is,’ Clarke answered, attempting to keep her tone even.

‘Well,’ he spoke tersely, pulling out a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and peering down at the map. ‘What does it look like?’

At Clarke’s frown, he gestured emptily. ‘The herb?’

Clarke hesitated and Raven spoke up. ‘We don’t know, Mr. G.’

Jake let loose a small huff of impatience, the corners of his lips twitching upward, and he pulled his glasses free of his face. ‘What? Clarke, you don’t even know what you’d be looking for.’

‘I can still look,’ Clarke said. Her lips pressed together and Jake sighed.

‘Look, honey, stay with your Mum,’ he said, and he had to wave a hand to stop her protests. ‘Clarke, I’ll go take a look. If I see any herbs out there, I’ll bring them all back and we’ll look them up.’

‘Clarke, why don’t you look up the natblida on the net now?’ Raven suggested quickly.

‘I did,’ she murmured. ‘I mean, just quickly. I’ll look again.’

 There was a frustrated noise a moment later as Clarke showed them the screen. ‘It just thinks I meant to spell ‘natalid’.’

‘Small, long-legged insectivorous bats,’ Raven read out loud. ‘Interesting.’

‘It’s still worth a try. The lady said it would help with the fevers and hallucinations.’ Clarke shoved her iPad back in her satchel.

Jake smiled at the cars in the field, and then he ruffled his hair and a half chuckle escaped. ‘I agree,’ he assured her, patting her shoulder. When she gave him a dubious look, he smiled gently. ‘ _I agree_. I’ll take a look today.’

‘I’ll come too.’

‘No.’

‘But, Dad—‘

‘Your mum needs more of your broth,’ he cut in. ‘You take care of her. I’ll take the rover and be back in a few hours.’

Clarke reluctantly helped her dad load up the rover with containers, jars, and zip-bags, as well as some food and water in case he spent the day out there, though he kept muttering about coming back to finish up with the cars in the field.

‘You can do that tomorrow,’ Clarke reminded him. ‘Mum’s the priority.’

He nodded. ‘I know, you’re right.’

‘Dad, if I can just—‘

‘Clarke,’ he said. ‘It will be fine.  If there’s anything there, I’ll find it.’

‘Mr. G’s got this,’ Raven added, wrapping an arm around Clarke’s shoulders. ‘Come on, I’ll help out with Abby.’

‘Where is it though?’ Clarke asked quickly, pulling back on Jake’s arm. ‘Just in case…’

Jake was quiet for a moment, but then he relented. ‘You know the path to the woods?’ A nod. ‘We always stopped at the log for the mushrooms, remember?’

Clarke nodded quickly.  ‘The path kept going?’

‘Sort of,’ Jake replied, opening the car door. ‘It’s worn away, but it’s there.’

Clarke watched from the dirt track driveway as her father hopped into the rover and started it up.

‘If he doesn’t find anything, I’m going to look myself,’ she declared, watching as the car moved down the tracks.

Raven sighed next to her. ‘If he doesn’t find anything, Clarke, what makes you think you will?’

Clarke turned to Raven, frown lines in her forehead. ‘Because he’s only going to make me feel better.  He doesn’t actually expect to find anything. He’ll probably return in an hour.’

Raven’s eyes softened. ‘Clarke—‘

‘I don’t blame him,’ Clarke muttered to herself as she moved towards the house. ‘It’s a long shot.’


End file.
